The Kissing Thief
by Ukaisha
Summary: He was the Kissing Thief. He stole their kisses. He pilfered their fears. He ransacked their hearts. But most of all he loved them, and it was love alone that he could not steal. (Kennycentric, citrus, innumerable pairings)


sex, (between 13 and 16) explicit descriptions of said sex (as far as the rating will let me go) and relationships of heterosexual AND homosexual natures. If this displeases you, kindly turn away from this story.

This story contains examples of Stenny, K2, Stendy, Keneric, Kendy, Crenny, and other couples too numerous to count.  
You'll understand as the story goes on.

A/N: While this is intended to be a chapter story, the chapters are intended to be fairly short and to the point. The story itself should not take up more than four or five chapters total. I would drag it out too long if I let it be any more complicated than that.  
I'm only recently returned to writing after an exceptionally long hiatus, so any constructive feedback is highly valued and appreciated, especially considering this is a chapter story I will have to remember to update.

Thanks for reading.

* * *

_The Kissing Thief_

A kiss from a thief: not taken, but given. Not stolen, but returned. Graciously bestowed upon the lips of another. The thief had love so infinite that he would give away his kisses until hell froze over, but it was not the kiss he desired. A thief will not steal something he has no use for; he may take it, but he does not steal it. He will steal what he covets. He will steal what drives him mad with envy. But a thief that can only admire is not a thief; merely a fanciful partisan.  
To ask what thief so generously relinquishes his own love only to receive none in return, one must understand: it is not the kissing that the thief lusts for.

* * *

Kenny McCormick had three thoughts.

One, Stan looked awful without his hat. His hair was plastered to his head as though he had used glue in place of hair gel. That ever-present beloved beanie of his had returned the favor by giving him ever-present hat-hair, and given the shape of his head, he kept said hat-hair way too short. He wished he would at least tousle his hair a bit or run his fingers through it; anything to try and liberate this flat, lifeless creature nestled on his head.

Two, Stan loved his girlfriend way more than normal people should be allowed to love other people. The very fact that Stan was requesting what he was requesting was proof enough of that. Kenny was not blind enough nor egotistical enough to think that it was sexual desire or anything silly like that; Stan desired this thing for one reason, and one reason only. He had made his stance clear.

Three, Kenny had never kissed another boy before, but it excited him. Despite identifying as straight, he had numerous times before had daydreams of involving another man in his fantasies, and it bordered on bi curious, if not flat out gay. Perhaps the female physique attracted him, but the male fascinated him. Boys were so much more interesting than girls, and they were usually more interested in sex. Seeing as this was a rather pertinent issue, (sex was pretty much the top thing on his list at all times) it only made sense for him to share a certain attraction for anything that thought about sex as often as he did. Girls always thought about love and marriage and nonsense like that, but good luck getting that drivel out of a man.

"So will you do it?" Stan pressed. The blue and red beanie was in his hands, being stretched and fondled and abused tortuously as its master sought to unleash his nervousness in some form.  
"You realize you're asking me to kiss you, right?"  
"That's NOT what I'm asking you. I'm asking you to TEACH me how to kiss," he clarified with some annoyance. Kenny was already fairly clear on this point, (and had already determined that Stan was in no way, shape or form gay; and unlike himself, he did not have gay tendencies) but the fact that a freshly teenaged boy with a girlfriend of four years was asking for one of his best (male) friends with help learning the tongue-tango amused him.  
"Okay, okay. Semantics. But you're aware that it involves you sticking your tongue in my mouth and vice versa, right?"  
Stan hesitated for a moment, reluctant to give the answer, and Kenny waited patiently. If there was going to be any tongue-swapping done in his room, he was going to be damn sure that it was entirely consensual.  
"Yes," Stan eventually said. Permission granted. "But don't be gay about it. I just want to show Wendy how much I love her when I kiss her. She always seems disappointed when we kiss."  
"And she probably is." Ignoring the glare Stan shot him, he cleared off a space on his bed and sat, and then pat the spot next to him suggestively. In the tiny living quarters of the McCormick household, the bed was the only spot that provided somewhat comfortable seating, and with the room as messy as it was, it was also probably the cleanest. Kenny had never claimed to be a neat freak.  
Still blown away by his own willingness to practically become intimate with another boy, Stan warily approached the bed and took a seat beside Kenny. The hat was rolled up into a sweaty ball in his hand, and his poor nerves further infected him with shallow breathing and deer-like eyes. Kenny, conversely, was calm. He had been asked for a favor as a friend, by a friend, and he would do his best to help.  
Granted, the fact that he would score some tongue in the bargain was pretty sweet. It might even help determine his currently questionable sexuality. Stan would get to impress Wendy and Kenny would get to experiment without any emotional repercussions, that pesky footnote that always seemed to rear its ugly head when it came to personal relationships. It was a great deal all around.

"You don't want to make kissing a big deal," he instructed, deciding to make the first point the most important one. "You always look nervous around Wendy. That turns her off. You don't want to be perpetually nervous around her. She probably think you're going to puke on her every time you touch her."  
"Dude, I haven't puked on Wendy in like three years." He said this with some stubbornness, but Kenny could see that his words had affected him. Already he was trying to even out his breathing, trying to become more relaxed.  
"The point is that you make her think you're scared of her. Girls want to be captivated. They want confidence and sturdiness. And most of all, they don't want you to be nervous. They're the nervous ones. Men are the ones sure of themselves."  
Stan did not relax, and it was likely not his fault. He was sitting beside another guy, a friend, who was planning on kissing him. No boy would be calm in that situation.  
"Relax," Kenny stressed again. Scooting his butt back to position himself behind Stan, and without warning he grabbed his friend's shoulders. Instantly the muscles beneath his hands stiffened and tensed, but he worked them with his fingers, first gently, and then rough.  
"I told you not to make it gay," said Stan, who was still resisting Kenny's attempt to unbind the knots beneath his fingers.  
"I'm not," replied Kenny. "I'm trying to make you relax." Gradually, Stan loosened up, and the hard muscles beneath his fingers became soft and pliable. Stan would even release a soft grunt in contentment, now and then. "Just stop being so uptight and the rest will come naturally."  
"Okay." On his own Stan cracked his neck, first left and then right, and then for good measure he cracked his knuckles and then each finger at least once. All the while Kenny massaged his shoulder and his upper back in nice, even motions; not too fast, not too slow. He didn't want Stan to think he was trying to rush him into anything; that would just make him even MORE nervous.

"Are you relaxed now?" Stan nodded. Kenny released his shoulders and returned to his spot directly next to him, leaning inches away from his face.  
"Okay, so I'm Wendy." Kenny did not particularly want to pretend to be the girl in the role play, but the fact was that Stan needed to learn to kiss a girl, and it would do no good for him to be kissed as though he were one. And besides, Kenny was a self-sacrificing friend. "What's the first thing you do?"  
Awkwardly, Stan leaned in, and Kenny's hand was there to meet him.  
"Wrong. You don't just go right for a kiss. You tell her you love her."  
"Wendy knows I love her, dude. We've kind of been dating for four years."  
"Yeah, okay, but girls like to hear it. They want you to say it over and over again, especially before you do something like kissing. If you don't say you love them before you kiss them they think that that was all you wanted to begin with. So again. I'm Wendy." Kenny waited expectantly.  
"I love you." The confession was bent and awkward, like someone had stepped on the words on accident and then tried to pass them off as pristine as china. Kenny just hid his face in his hands, like the performance he had just witnessed was simply too embarrassing to bear.  
"Good _Lord_; is that how you talk to your girlfriend?"  
"Well, it's kind of different when you're the one sitting in front of me and not her!" Stan's cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes tried desperately to avoid contact.  
"I AM her," Kenny corrected emphatically. "If you're going to learn to do this the real way you've got to have a little imagination. For the last time, I. AM. WENDY."  
Still avoiding eye contact, but with more feeling than before, Stan said, "I love you."  
"Better, but you need to sound like it's breaking your heart to tell her. And look up. Look at my eyes. Girls are suckers for eyes. Try to look like you're almost crying."  
"Crying?" Stan interrupted. "Why would I be crying?"  
"Because chicks are into that kind of thing. Crying from happiness and emotion and all that jazz. Just look really really emotional, okay? But sure of yourself!" Stan was clearly confused. Be emotional but be in control? Cry but look happy? Sound heart-broken but radiate confidence? It didn't even make any sense!  
"God; you needed my help so bad, Marsh. Okay, like this." Kenny grabbed Stan's face by the chin and forced it in his direction. Mere inches away, he forced their eyes to lock onto one another; blue sky staring into ocean blue. Stan's still glowed with a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look; Kenny's were narrow and sharp and dangerous. "I love you," he said huskily. The words were saturated with love and lust and depth and sorrow and a hundred other little inexplicable emotions; even knowing it was make-believe, even knowing that Kenny was trying to make a point, heat still flushed across Stan's face and his heartbeat raced with a sudden rush of adrenaline.  
God damn; the kid knew his shit.  
"Do you get it now?" he asked, withdrawing from the intimate proximity. In an instant, the passionate lover on his face had dissipated and become Kenny once again.  
"I think so," Stan replied. His hand was applying pressure to his heart, trying to still its rapid pounding.  
"Aw, was that too extreme for Stanley?" As he had wanted to do since Stan had removed the beanie, Kenny tousled his hair. He managed to get a few rogue strands to stick up and look disheveled before Stan smacked his hand away. The hair was still awful, but at least it wasn't smeared on his head like paint.

"Now, we try again." Kenny situated himself again and looked expectantly at Stan. Not once did they lose eye contact; in fact, Stan took the opportunity to lean in closer. Eyes half-lidded, practically no space in between them, like he was trying to see beyond them into some unknown dimension. He was breathing too loudly from his nose, and Kenny was about to correct him, but then he dropped the line again.  
"I love you," he said, his voice cracking in between words.  
Kenny wanted to tell him it was much better; hell, it practically broke his heart. Maybe it wasn't sexy and dangerous, but it was sincere and heart-felt. A girl could dig that. But Kenny was a perfectionist, and he knew he could do better still. "You said it like she just dumped you and you're crying over her. Sound like you're _sad_ but she makes you _happy_. And stop breathing so loud, damn it."  
"I love you."  
"Quieter. I'm the only person in the room; I'm the only one who needs to hear you."  
"I love you."  
"Knock your voice down about an octave; you sound like a goddamn kid. I know your balls have dropped by now dude."  
Taking a deep breath, Stan first leaned back to reposition himself, and then leaned forward again. Slowly he inched back into Kenny's personal bubble, and for bonus points he softly pressed his forehead against his. One hand came up and gently caressed his face, rough with callouses but touching softer than clouds. They tenderly stroked his cheek as his eyes stared dreamily, the ocean blue pouring itself into the sky. "I love you," he said.  
Kenny was stricken. It was one of the most adorable things he'd ever seen, and he was beginning to realize why eyes were so important to girls. They really were like portals to the soul, and Stan was baring all of it to him; more intimately than he'd been expecting. He couldn't look away.  
"Good," he said, purposely sounding unimpressed. "A lot better than before."  
"You don't think it was too much?" The eyes retreated back into Stan's head, and the rest of Stan retreated as well.

"If you would only brush your teeth next time, you'd knock her socks off." Stan's cheeks tinged pink again.  
"Your breath doesn't smell awesome either, dude." Kenny waved a single finger at him.  
"I'm not the one trying to woo the love of my life though, am I?"  
"I guess not." Subconsciously he tried to smooth down his hair, an action that absolutely infuriated Kenny.  
"Will you PLEASE rough your hair up? A little? Just a little? It's so flat it looks like a damn toupee."  
"Wendy doesn't seem to mind," he said defensively. As it seemed to be a nervous habit, he flattened it again.  
"Just trust me on this." With both hands, Kenny took Stan's head and chaotically fluffed it, vigorously trying to get as many strands to stick out in as many ways at possible. Stan resisted the whole time, pushing against him and yelling at him to get off, but he would only stop when he was done. As he admired his work he thought it still looked sick and wilting, but it was a lot better.  
"Why don't you spike it dude? You could easily pull that off and it would make you look rebellious and cool. Chicks dig that."  
"I don't want to," he grumbled. He hovered above his head with the palm of his hand, feeling the strands sticking out in every which way. "I didn't think learning to kiss Wendy would involve getting a make-over and having to tell another guy I loved him over and over again either," he added afterward.  
"You've got to get to know me better, don't you? Do you really just hop in the sack on the first date?" Not wanting him to bother responding with something that would likely be dismissive, derogatory or both, Kenny continued without waiting for a response. "So your 'I love yous' have improved. Let's see what your kissing is like. Give me a baseline."  
"A what?"  
"An original copy. Something to compare your progress to. In other words, let me see how godawful you are so I can fix it."

The foreplay (if you wanted to call it that; Kenny did) was almost overshadowed completely in terms of awkwardness compared to the kissing, and very much so. As Kenny sat expectantly, waiting for the big moment, Stan leaned in several times, lips puckered in anticipation, but he could never finish the job. Self-consciousness had paralyzed him. After all this, it seemed he would not even be able to initiate a kiss, let alone learn how to improve upon it.  
"It's really not that big a deal, Stan," Kenny said in exasperation as the seconds ticked by and he was no closer to having his first gay kiss. "It doesn't matter as much as you think. All we're doing is slapping our tongues together for a few seconds. It's not romantic. It's not meaningful. Get over it."  
"But what if Wendy finds out and thinks I'm gay?" he asked worriedly.  
"I won't tell her, will you?"  
"No..."  
"Then you have nothing to worry about."  
Still Stan hesitated, and finally overcome by impatience, Kenny took his face in both hands, pulling Stan towards him. He tried to pull away, but Kenny dove in after him, and his lips hit the mark. For a few seconds they kissed, letting the fact that it was happening sink in, and then Kenny withdrew. Stan gazed back at him, dumbfounded. "You just kissed me," he said, like it hadn't been the subject of conversation for the past hour and he hadn't been expecting it at all.  
"And the world didn't end and your prick didn't fall off. See? Nothing special." Kenny licked his lips, namely because they were chapped and after kissing Stan, he had become painfully aware of this fact. But the simple action combined with Kenny's dreamy eyes sent the wrong idea to Stan, and he flushed again.  
"Look, kissing is only special if you act like it's special. This is not special. This a learning exercise. Now give me a baseline so I can help you."  
"You're just Wendy, right?"  
"Yes. I am not Kenny. I am Wendy. If you want me to shove my shirt full of toilet paper and pretend I have tits, I will do that."  
Stan managed to bark a laugh. He was trying to remember to relax again. "That won't be necessary."  
"Then get to it, lover boy. Or do you just like hearing me ask you to kiss me?"

Focused completely on Stan, Kenny failed to notice the hand that crept up his neck and then began to softly stroke his face. Stan was making the bedroom eyes at him again, and his heart skipped a beat. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea teaching Stan to be a romantic.  
At length, Stan closed the distance. Their lips brushed. Kenny fell into it warmly, but Stan remained stiff; unnatural. It was awkward and strained the more he fell into it, and Kenny instantly felt suffocated. Their lips were plastered together crudely like two Popsicle sticks glued together, and then it ended. Stan was wrinkling his nose and sniffling loudly.  
"What the fuck was that, dude?" Kenny berated. "No WONDER Wendy is so disappointed. I mean, really; the fuck? That disappointed ME and I don't even WANT to kiss you."  
"Look, shut the fuck up, Kenny. I can't breathe through my nose when we're like that." Even as he spoke, he continued sniffling. Kenny recalled that Stan had mild asthma, something that hindered him now and then when it came to sports but didn't usually bother him in other aspects of life. Evidently, kissing was on that list of exceptions. "Plus I'm still kind of nervous and that doesn't help..."  
"Try again," he ordered. "Hold your breath. Breathe through your mouth when you tilt your head. Eat straight wasabi and clear yourself out; I don't give a fuck, but learn to fucking breathe. I can't teach you to do shit unless you learn to breathe. And you need to get your tongue in there. There's a reason they call it 'giving someone tongue.'"

They tried again. There was a repeat performance of the opening act: the soft caress of his fingers. The shallow pitch of his breathing. The vastness of his eyes sucking in his gaze.  
Their lips brushed; they both tensed. Taking one last good gulp of air, Stan fused their lips together. Out came his tongue, curiously and awkwardly requesting admittance. Kenny's tongue shyly poked through, and then found the searching visitor. Instantly, he assumed dominance. The second they met, Stan's tongue rolled over like a beaten dog and obediently did everything in response to the stimuli from Kenny's. Both tongues went left; both tongues went right. There was no searching passion and no lust-driven craving in the kiss whatsoever.  
Kenny had thought he'd been putting it in the crudest of terms when he had said "slapping two tongues together," but he realized that that was exactly what Stan was doing. Beyond the fact that he understood "French Kissing" meant using tongues, the kid had no idea how to actually do it.

Without consulting Stan or even warning him that a change was taking place, Kenny took charge to show him how it was really done. He roughly grabbed the back of Stan's head and pulled him closer, simultaneously beginning to assertively explore his mouth. Passionately he invaded this wet, unknown cavern, occasionally pausing to lavish praise on his lips. He kissed them; he suckled them; he nibbled them; and by all means he simply ravished them.  
All the while, his firm hand kept Stan's head close, loosening his grip only when changing the tilt of his head. Every fifteen second or so his head would tilt left; every fifteen seconds or so his head would tilt right. And always his tongue dominated every inch of his mouth, utterly making it his. With his eyes closed, he didn't even have to know it was a boy, let alone Stan; it could have been anyone. He had complete control over the kiss, and his victim responded to everything he did with absolute willingness and zero hesitation.

The kiss seemed to last forever to poor Stan, who after several tries finally managed to forcibly push Kenny off of him in order to take a deep, shaking breath. He sniffled and panted and gazed wide-eyed at the friend who had so greedily kissed him. "Jesus Christ," he huffed. "My head is spinning."  
"Was it that good for you too?" Needless to say, Kenny had enjoyed it immensely. All of this trouble had been made worth it by the opportunity to explore his potential bisexuality by ravishing another boy who was completely straight. For the record, he was beginning to decide that labeling himself as a bisexual was looking like a possibility.  
"No, you retard, I mean...I couldn't breath." Nonetheless, it was clear that Stan had gotten the point. Passion. It was all about being passionate. Awkwardness set aside in favor of getting the job done right, Stan stretched his jaw multiple times and licked his own lips, evidently suffering from the same chapped lips as his friend. Without even being asked, he said, "So let's go again?"  
He was being offered round two of an extremely hot make-out session, and Kenny was definitely not going to say no. "Do you think you've got it down this time?" The truth was that Kenny madly wanted to kiss him again; the first one had made him hungry for it. It was sexy and hot and sweetly forbidden. If he didn't know himself any better, he would have said that he was starting to develop something of a crush on Stan; he was his first taste of forbidden fruit, after all, and you always want more of that first, sweet bite.

The caressing fingers on his cheek. Stan had a bandage wrapped around one of them; Kenny hadn't realized until now. His finger nails were dirty. His hand smelled like tree sap. There was a particularly rough callous on the meaty part of his palm. Stan's face directly in front of his. He had traces of facial hair beginning to poke through the skin for the first time like little budding plants; little solitary black whiskers peppered bits and pieces of his cheeks and chin. Each gorgeous iris seemed to house a star that had burst, his eyes a virtual color wheel of shining wet blues.  
All of these little things Kenny suddenly realized and then knew immediately on a deeply subconscious level. Then he heard the soft intake of another deep breath, like a swimmer preparing for a dive, and Stan submerged again. This kiss was eager and searching, and Kenny responded to it hungrily. Stan's caressing hand had moved behind Kenny's head as he had done, only he allowed his fingers to to play in his fluffy mess of golden hair, letting it pour through his fingers like sunlight. He stroked it gently at first, and then dug his fingers into it, pulling gently as he dove deeper into the kiss. It was against this supporting hand that Kenny's head rested as Stan assertively engaged his mouth, taking nothing for granted and assaulting him with all the desire and hunger of a lover.  
Once or twice he bit too hard on his lips, but Kenny would squeeze his shoulder if he did something wrong, and Stan would correct himself. Soft, teasing nibbles. Long, drawn out suckles. A restless, insatiable tongue trading wet saliva back and forth and occasionally swallowing it down. For a moment, their eyes both opened, and as their tongues interlocked and and they fed each other love, the eyes seemed to trade knowing glances. But then the eyes closed again, they both tilted their heads to the opposite direction, and the kiss continued unperturbed.

When Stan finally broke with a gasp, a shimmering strand of spittle follow from Kenny's lips to his, connecting them for one last, fleeting second before it was broken. Kenny drank it in hungrily, starving for more of the forbidden kiss, (and, at the rate it was going, maybe even more) but his partner seemed less in tune with his desires. Stan seemed satisfied enough with the result, and he was smirking as he wiped the sliminess from the wet, eager kissing with the back of his hand. "How's that?"  
"Way better." He wanted to say amazing; mind-blowing; toe-tingling. But he knew better. For Stan, it had been practice; nothing more. No feelings involved. Was that not what the whole exercise had been to start with?  
"Do you think I'm ready?"  
"I think so. Do you feel ready?" Kenny briefly hoped he would say no. That he would say he wanted another ravaging make-out fest and that they should start the next round immediately. Predictably, his response was on the opposite end of the spectrum.  
"Definitely. I think Wendy will be blown away if she gets to experience a few seconds of that."  
"That's good," said Kenny absently. He also wiped his mouth, (it _had_ been very wet, very sloppy) and rose from the bed. He had to find something to occupy himself for a bit before Stan realized that he had given his friend a little "problem" during their experiments, especially if he was done with them.  
"Thanks a lot, dude. I really owe you one. I know it was a really awkward thing to go to someone about; I don't think I could have gone to anyone else."  
"Don't worry; no one will get a word out of me." He was actually starting to tidy his room. Actually picking up things and putting them where they belonged. If that didn't showcase his desperation, nothing did.  
"I know you won't. That's why I came to you; I know that you're a good friend and you can keep a secret."  
"Any time." God damn; it had been a long time since he felt this horny. At least since his last Playboy, and that had been nearly a month ago. He was astounded that Stan had somehow managed not to notice. "Anyway, I guess you're through with me now."  
"I guess." If Stan detected any sort of resentment in the statement, he didn't show it. He seemed entirely focused on his next goal: creating an opportunity that would allow him to show Wendy his freshly harvested kissing skills. It was nothing against Kenny, and he knew it. The boy was hopelessly in love with the girl and that love tended to wipe all other thoughts from his mind.  
Stan also rose, grabbing his discarded signature hat and pulling it over his head. Soon, he would leave. "Are you sure that was good enough though? Will it be enough to impress her? Should I try again?"  
Stan was fucking lucky as hell that Kenny was a good friend. He said, "You should be fine. Just remember not to try to hard. It's when you try too hard that you fuck up."  
"Okay." Kenny had his back to him as he collected dirty clothes and dropped them into a laundry hamper he hadn't used in a month. He was going to greater lengths to avoid looking at Stan, for his benefit as well as his own. Maybe he was being self-conscious about it, for but him, his hard-on seemed to have a beacon shining on it. Surely he would notice; surely he would be grossed out. Kenny just wanted to avoid that whole fiasco altogether. He couldn't help it when a random boner decided to pop up; he got them all the time. He didn't need Stan to think that it was for him or anything. Stan spoke again. "Well, I can see that you're busy now, so I guess I'll just go."  
_'Congratulations, Stan,'_ thought Kenny dryly. _'You can sense the fucking obvious. You get a cookie.'_  
"Um, thanks again. You're a good..." For a moment he groped around for a word to fill in the blank, and he eventually settled with "teacher."  
"That's what I'm here for."

At last, he left. Kenny dropped the cleaning act like a bad habit and proceeded to furiously masturbate, twice in one hour. Not even close to a new record for him or anything, but it _had_ been a while.  
It was much later after the self-induced afterglow had worn off that it started to really dawn on him that Stan had made him feel that way. The rampant, lust-driven hormones that usually sprung up around pictures of half-naked babes with huge bouncing tits had emerged in light of a fake make-out session with one of his best friends.  
Furthermore, he missed Stan. He was sad that as he laid in bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, he knew he was alone. He thought of Stan's determination to change himself to please Wendy, even if it meant humiliation. He thought of the tenderness in his eyes and the heartfelt sigh with which he whispered the words, "I love you." He thought of how no one else had ever said those words to him quite like that before.

Kenny thought then that he would have done anything to steal just one more kiss; just one.

And thus began the illustrious career of the Kissing Thief, although it would be another month before anyone would be kind enough to tell him of its existence. There would be many more kisses and many things more serious than kisses, but none of that was the reality of Kenny McCormick right then. Right then, the only reality was his dusty ceiling, his bed, his hand, and the sweet, enveloping dark into which he whispered the name of a friend.


End file.
